Erotomania
by Deltree
Summary: Greg has a secret admirer and it just gets worse from there. Nick/Greg slash
1. Prologue: A Normal Day

Title: Erotomania

Pairings: Catherine/Warrick, Sara/Grissom, Nick/Greg

Disclaimer: Neither CSI or its characters belong to me.

Warnings: Slash, sexual situations, language, violence, attempted rape.

Summary: Greg has a secret admirer and it only gets worse from there.

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Prologue: A Normal Day

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He supposed it started out innocently enough.

Waking up that afternoon after having gotten far too little sleep, stumbling blindly into his kitchen, he'd opened his cupboard and found his precious Blue Hawaiian gone. Just gone. Only an empty bag left behind to mock him with its few stray beans.

He could kick himself. _Now_ he remembered. He'd finished the last of it off the day before at work. He must have forgotten all about it when the rush had come.

Fuck. And a new shipment of the stuff wouldn't be in for a few more days. Now he would have to actually go _out_ for a cup of coffee and just suffer through the bland and/or bitter swill that most of the chain stores sold. Well not if he could help it. He would search out a store that sold Blue Hawaiian if it killed him.

So he set out on his quest. And it took him a little while but he finally did find a place. It was a little off his beaten track but it was cozy, almost homey, with a couch lining the far wall, arm chairs situated around a low coffee table, and various other tables for the patrons to sit at located around the shop. Vintage posters, advertisements for old movie showings, and pictures of past customers covered the walls.

"That'll be 5.65, sir," the girl behind the counter said, an obviously fake smile plastered on her face.

"Uh, sure." Greg grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and flipped through the bills. "Here." Looking up, he smiled, handing the girl a 10 dollar bill.

"Out of 10," the girl said, taking the money and opening the cash register with a firm _ching_. "And your change is 4.35." Handing him back the change, she still smiled that fake smile as she said brightly, "Thank you and have a nice day."

"Yeah. You too," Greg said, smiling a bemused smile as he stuck his wallet back in his back pocket and grabbed his drink. Taking a cautious sip to find the coffee delicious, he turned away and made to leave the shop. Attention on his coffee, he didn't notice the man rushing into the shop and he side-brushed him as he moved past him to the door. "Sorry!" he called back as he kept on walking.

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Later he'd gone to work as normal.

"This just doesn't make any sense," Greg said, frowning as he threw down a picture of the dead woman in frustration. Putting both hands on the table, he leaned forward to study the collection of evidence lying on the table. "There has to be something we're not seeing."

"Yeah," Nick said, nodding seriously as he crossed his arms over his chest. "But what? We've been all over that house and there's nothing that places the old husband on the scene. The new husband's story checks out and no one else has motive."

"Maybe we're just not seeing the motive," Sara said, a contemplative frown on her face as she studied another photo. "Someone else had to have a reason to kill this woman."

There was silence for a moment as the three of them contemplated the evidence on the table then Nick checked his watch and sighed. "Well whatever it is we're not gonna find it today. I think it's about time I headed out. Maybe some sleep will help me think."

Greg ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, me too. I'm getting a little tired."

Nick raised a brow. "Only a little? Man, _how_ long have you been here?"

Greg tried to think. "I dunno. 14 hours?" Yeah that sounded about right. Greg nodded, turning to Nick. "About the same as you."

"Yeah," Nick agreed as if this proved everything, "And if I need sleep so do you." He turned to Sara. "You coming?"

"No," Sara shook her head, not looking up from that one photo still in her hand. "I think I'm going to stay here a while."

Nick and Greg exchanged a look that clearly showed what they thought of her sanity.

"Are you sure?" Greg asked, turning back to her in concern.

Sara finally looked up at them and smiled. "I'm sure. I'll see you two tonight, okay?"

Nick smiled back. "Yeah, sure. Tonight," he said, turning to open the door and leave.

Greg grinned and waved good-bye as he followed Nick out. "Yeah. See ya. Don't stay here too long, okay?"

"I won't," Sara assured him as he left, still smiling that smile before turning back to the evidence.

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Then he'd gone home, just like always.

"Hey! Watch it," Greg said, hands shooting out to help the man coming out of the elevator. The man's hands full of papers and computer supplies, he could hardly hold it all himself, everything was about to go tumbling out of his hands until Greg stepped up. Greg didn't recognize him as one of his neighbors, but that was understandable. Maybe he was from one of the other floors. "You okay?" Greg asked cautiously, stepping back as the man's load was stabilized, hands still held out just in case anything came loose.

"Yeah," the man said gratefully. "I'm good. Thank you." And with that said he went on his way, hurrying down the hallway. Greg watched him go in some bemusement before pushing the button to reopen the elevator doors and stepping in to head up to his own apartment. Unlocking his front door, he walked into his apartment and immediately felt the stress of the day leave him. Smiling to himself, he went to get ready for bed. It was about 10 o'clock in the morning but you got used to sleeping during the day when you were on night shift.

Nothing at all about the day had seemed strange. Nothing.

He supposed it started out innocently enough. It started with a letter.

TBC?


	2. Ch 1: The Start of Something Weird

Title: Erotomania

Summary: Greg has a secret admirer and it just gets worse from there.

Pairings: Nick/Greg, OC/Greg, Catherine/Warrick, Grissom/Sara

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or its characters.

Warnings: slash, sexual situations, attempted rape, violence, language

AN: And I wanted to say thank you to all those that reviewed including Lily G, Libranfate, AZNsexinezz, Blatantly Jennifer, , fictitiousshore, and happyharper13.

And to happyharper13: Thank you so much! That was one long review. I hope this and future chapters can live up to your expectations.

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Chapter #1: The Start of Something Weird

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Greg's next shift turned out to be a good one. Nick, Sara, and he discovered who had killed the woman—it had been the plumber of all people—and Greg had then been rushed off to the next crime scene without even having the time to finish the appropriate paperwork. This new crime scene had been a standard B&E and he and Catherine had it figured out in literally no time at all. The idiot would be robber had left behind his hat, which just happened to have some of his hair caught in the fibers. They'd run the DNA through the database and had a match within an hour. After that, he'd done some paperwork and then it was time to go home. Greg said good-bye to his friends in the lab and headed for the locker room to get his jacket out of his locker. He was in a good mood and he would've started to whistle as he walked down the hallway just to annoy Hodges—who looked up at him from the Trace lab with a glare when he waved as he passed by—but, sadly, though he was a genius, whistling would never be one of his skills. It was indeed a sad, sad thing as knowing how to whistle would have been totally awesome.

Finally, he got to the locker room and he nodded at Warrick as he came through the door and headed for his own locker, tucked somewhere way in the back. At first he'd been insulted by the placement of his locker. Because, really, wasn't he good enough to have a locker close to the front or at least in the middle with the rest of the team? But then he'd realized it had nothing to do with status in the lab and all to do with the fact that the locker way in the back was one of the few lockers that was both available and not broken. The male CSI's had a bad habit of venting their frustrations with a case by punching the lockers as hard as they could and this had resulted in more than a few lockers that just wouldn't close anymore. There had been a request for somebody to fix these lockers but that request had been kindly refuted by a request for the CSI's to just stop damaging government property.

Either way, Greg got to his locker and happily spun the lock in his combination, opening the door only to have an envelope fall out and end up on the ground. This not being something that he had expected, Greg frowned and crouched down to pick the envelope up. Turning it this way and that, he tried to find a return address or something that would tell him who it was from, but the envelope was blank except for his name printed in dark, bold letters on the front. Somewhat unsure about if he should open the envelope or not—who knew what it could contain!—Greg sat down on the bench and continued to stare at it with a frown.

"Hey, Greggo," A hand suddenly came down on Greg's shoulder and Greg tried not to jump. "Me and Warrick are gonna head out now, okay?" Nick continued.

Greg, continuing to stare at his envelope, mumbled a distracted, "Yeah, yeah, sure."

But Nick didn't go away. "What'cha got there?" he asked curiously, hand reaching out to snatch the envelope from Greg's grip. "Looks like a letter," Nick observed casually as he examined the envelope himself, turning it this way and that.

"No, really?" Greg said sarcastically, snatching the envelope back and holding it to his chest protectively. "Quit stealing my mail."

Nick smirked at that. "Alright I'll leave you and your letter _alone_ together. I know when I'm not wanted."

Greg scowled at Nick playfully. "Then hurry it up already. Me and my letter need some privacy."

Nick laughed at that, but he obligingly left the room and dragged Warrick along with him, leaving Greg and the envelope alone.

"Alright," Greg said to the letter, "Let's see what you're about." And then he quickly ripped the envelope open and took out the letter within, which he turned around to read.

It read:

_Dearest Greg,_

_For so long we have been apart and it is killing me inside slowly. I literally ache to be with you again like we once were, but this cruel world is keeping us apart. Is there not any way that we can be together? I anxiously await your reply._

_Love with all my heart,_

_You know who_

Reading this and then rereading it, Greg frowned, more than confused. What the hell? Who the hell was 'You know who'? And what the hell kind of drugs was this person taking to write something like this? Greg had never been the recipient of psychotic fan mail before.

Though, now that he thought about it, this was more likely to be somebody's warped idea of a joke. Probably Archie's. He had a bizarre enough sense of humor that he would find something like this funny.

Well Greg would show him. He'd just not react at all. Archie was probably just waiting for him to start questioning the whole lab for who had written the letter. It would serve him right for Greg to just forget about the whole thing.

That decided, Greg grabbed his jacket, shut the locker door, and headed out of the locker room. And if he happened to drop the letter in the trash can by the door then that was just as well.

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Of course the next day, or night as it was, Nick just had to bring the letter back up.

"So what was with that letter yesterday?" Nick asked as he plopped himself down in the seat across from Greg in the break room. "It didn't look like your regular mail."

Greg blew softly on his coffee then took a sip before answering. "It was just some bizarre joke of Archie's. Nothing big."

"Oh yeah?" Nick said, raising a brow and pinning Greg with an interested look. "What'd he say?"

"It was actually some kind of love letter," Greg said, smiling now in amusement. "I mean, you should have read this thing. It was like something out of a trashy romance novel."

"You mean one of those with the perfectly muscular guys, the gorgeous heroines, and all the sweaty sex?"

Greg grinned and looked over at the Texan with a mischievous look. "Sounds like you know from experience. Read one of those have you?"

"No!" Nick said, looking faintly disgusted at the thought. "It's just one of my sisters is obsessed with those kinds of books. You pick up on the themes after awhile."

"Uh-huh," Greg didn't look convinced, though he still had an edge of mischievousness about him. "You just don't want to admit your deep love for them. Don't worry." Putting on a mock-serious look, Greg reached out to pat Nick on the hand soothingly. "I won't think less of you if you like chick books."

Nick snatched his hand back quickly and went on trying to protest his innocence. "No, seriously! I don't like those kinds of books!"

"What kind of books doesn't Nick like?" Catherine asked, walking into the break room and heading straight for the coffee machine.

"Trashy romance novels where there's more sex and description of sexual organs then actual plot," Greg answered.

Catherine laughed and took a cautious sip of her coffee. "And what got you on to this discussion?"

"We were talking about a letter Greg got," Nick said, obviously grateful for the change of subject.

Catherine instantly looked interested. "A trashy romantic letter?"

"It was just a joke, guys. Seriously," Greg said, going back to his own coffee and taking a sip. "It was nothing," he finished.

"And how do you know it was just a joke?" Catherine asked. "Maybe some poor girl out there was baring her soul to you in the only way she could. And then you laugh at it!"

Greg shook his head. "No. It was a joke. You guys didn't read it. The person was talking like I knew them and we'd secretly been in love for forever. And, I don't know about you guys, but I think I would remember if I was in love with somebody." Here he couldn't help it. He glanced quickly at Nick, but then just as quickly glanced away. Yeah, he would remember all right. How couldn't do anything but remember.

"Still . . ." Catherine said, "You shouldn't be so quick to be so positive that somebody isn't in love with you."

For some reason, Nick's eyes got very wide at this and he turned to Catherine in what looked suspiciously like a panic.

Ignoring that, Greg grinned. "Oh, I'm sure tons of people are in love with me. I mean, who couldn't love this?" Here, he pointed to himself arrogantly and continued to grin, letting the others revel in the glory that was him.

Catherine rolled her eyes tolerantly and took another sip of her coffee as she walked around the break room table to sit by Nick. Here, she patted him on the arm and Nick said something under his breath that Greg couldn't hear.

Somewhat curious, Greg was about to ask a question when his phone rang. Immediately fishing it out of his pocket, he answered, "Sanders."

On the other end of the line there was a silence.

Greg frowned. "Hello?"

More silence and, if he listened closely, the sound of somebody's soft breathing.

"Hello?" Greg said again, starting to grow concerned. Putting a hand over his other ear in order to hear better, he continued, "Hello? Who is this?"

Only the dial tone answered him. Whoever it had been had hung up. Greg frowned at his phone. Well that was weird.

"Who was it?" Nick asked with his own frown.

Greg shrugged. "Dunno. They didn't say anything."

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He would answer his phone three more times that day only to have nothing but the sound of somebody breathing answer him. It was strange, but he wouldn't let it bother him. No, what really bothered him was his newest case.

Somebody had killed a little girl, only eleven years old. Her name was Cassandra "Cassie" Roberts and she'd been stabbed three times—twice in the gut, once in the chest. He and Warrick had been all over the alleyway she had been found in and discovered only a multitude of trash, some dog droppings, a spider, faint car tracks heading away from the scene, and a whole lot of blood. Nothing really seemed to connect anybody to her death and looking over the photos only gave them so much.

From the girl herself they hadn't been able to gather any DNA other than a strand of her mother's hair and some cat hair from the family pet. It looked like this case would involve a lot of asking questions and digging through trash so they had gotten started, Warrick leaving Greg to go through the trash while he himself headed off with Brass to question the uncle the victim was supposed to have been spending the day with.

By the time the end of shift came, Greg was sick and tired of looking at other people's half-eaten fast food and now knew more about what went into serving food at McDonalds' (the restaurant that actually used the trash bin in the alleyway) than he had ever wanted to know. And he now knew one thing—he was never eating a Big Mac again. He didn't care how tired and hungry he was, he'd go to Burger King if he was that desperate. The day had just been that disgusting.

Thankfully it was the end of shift so he could go home and take a shower. He knew he could always just take a shower in the locker room showers, but not only were those disgusting and probably disease-ridden, he also just didn't use them after the lab explosion had caused permanent scarring to his back. He couldn't risk somebody seeing the scars and then having to see the pity that would most likely come with that. He didn't like, want, or need pity and so he just tended to avoid the situation.

So, saying good-bye to the other CSIs and the guys in the lab, Greg left to go home. Getting to his apartment building, he pulled into the parking lot and turned off the ignition. Then, just like any other night, he walked into the actual apartment building and pressed the button for the elevator, waiting calmly for it to come. Eventually it came and he waited for the three people already on it to get off. One of the guys getting off seemed familiar, but Greg put that down to the fact that the building he lived in was small and he could have seen the man at anytime. Either way, that man gave him a look in passing and then he was gone and Greg put it out of his mind. Getting to his actual apartment, Greg didn't notice the letter that had been stuck under the door until he'd already stepped on it and closed the door behind him. He actually would have continued to ignore it, but he happened to look down and there it was in all its green envelope-y glory.

Frowning, Greg reached down to pick it up and turned it over to look for any indication of who it was from. Maybe it was from his landlord? But, no. It looked just like the letter from earlier, with his name written in dark, bold letters on the front. Frowning again, Greg walked with it into his living room and plopped down on his sofa before ripping into the envelope. Taking out the letter within, he turned it over and read:

_Dearest Greg,_

_You have received my last letter and I can tell it has given you much joy. This method of communication seems to work well though I have to admit that I had to call you just to hear the sound of your voice. I know, I know, you don't want me to make such risks, but I had to hear your voice. You have never seemed to understand what your voice does to me. Just hearing you say, "Hello" sends tremors of ecstasy down my spine. But if you would only send me a letter or a picture, I would be content and take no more risks. Farewell for now, my love, until we meet again._

_Love with all of my heart,_

_You know who_

Okay this was getting a little ridiculous. Archie had obviously realized that Greg hadn't reacted to the first letter like he'd hoped and so he'd just made a new one to bug him. And he had obviously been the one that kept calling him and hanging up. Greg got out his phone and dialed a familiar number.

Archie answered on the third ring. "Hello?" He sounded like he had been asleep.

"Archie, what the hell is wrong with you? Stop it with the letters already. And stop calling my cell phone just to breath at me. It's annoying"

"Wait. Wait," Archie said, sounding like he was still trying to wake up. "Greg? Is that you?"

"Yeah. It's me," Greg said, starting to pace his living room. "And I want you to stop it. It's not funny. It's really annoying." Greg stopped suddenly as he realized something, "And when did you ever have the time to come to my apartment anyways?"

"What," Archie said, sounding bleary and confused. "What are you talking about?"

"The letters," Greg replied. "The phone calls. Your stupid joke. Stop it."

"But I haven't even _done_ anything yet," Archie said, starting to protest but still sounding confused.

"Don't pretend you don't know," Greg said sternly.

"But I really _don't_ know. What are you talking about?"

Greg frowned, his certainty that it had been Archie starting to waver. The other man really did sound confused. "You mean you really don't know?"

"I really don't know," Archie repeated and then started to sound worried. "Are you getting letters? Phone calls? Is something happening?"

And now Archie was even sounding like a concerned friend. Maybe Greg had been wrong. But if Greg had been wrong then did that mean . . .

"Sorry, Arch. I think I made a mistake. Nick must be pulling my leg or something. Bye." And then, before Archie could even protest again like it sounded like he was going to, Greg hung up.

Picking the letter up from where Greg had thrown it on the couch, Greg stared at it some more. If it wasn't Archie, maybe it was one of the other guys at the lab making a joke at his expense. But then that wouldn't explain how the letter had gotten to his apartment. Only a certain number of people knew where his apartment was and if it wasn't Archie then Greg couldn't really see any of the others pulling a joke like this even if they had had the time, which they hadn't.

So did that mean somebody really had a crush on him? Rereading the letter, Greg pulled a face. That would be one massively weird crush. It was almost like the person thought they really were in a relationship with him. Weird.

Oh well. If they were calling his cell phone and leaving letters at his door he would have to report it as a stalking since he didn't know who the hell it was who was doing this. But he'd do it only if they kept it up. Tonight he just wanted to sleep.

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TBC?


	3. Ch 2: Flowers and Candy

Thanks again to all who reviewed including happyharper13, SheDevilJen, fictitiousshore, AZNsexinezz, A-Light-Sleeper, , WalksThisWay, and Blatantly Jennifer

And to happyharper13: Thanks for pointing that out. I must have fallen asleep in English class that day because I have _never_ heard that you put a comma before words like as and which. I guess Word grammar check actually knows what it's talking about sometimes. And I don't know how many chapters this will be. Probably more than ten though.

And to A-Light-Sleeper: Don't worry. Nothing happened between the last chapter and the Prologue. The Prologue was just a normal day for Greg, but there were bits in it that will probably become important like 10 chapters from now. I won't say anything more about it, but tell me if you're still lost and I'll try to explain. I hope this wasn't so confusing for a lot of people.

And just to tell people. I have realized in writing this that I can't write Grissom. I thought I could, but I simply can't. So I'm apologizing about his portrayal in this story in advance. He may sound a little awkward.

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Chapter #2: Flowers and Candy

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Greg received three more letters (all asking him for a photo or return letter) and nearly a dozen more phone calls as the week went on until finally one day a bouquet of roses arrived for him at the front desk and he just couldn't take it anymore. The stalker was pretty much benign, but Greg was tired of it. Especially after having to deal with the constant good-natured teasing he was being forced to endure over the bouquet. Everyone thought he had a secret admirer or something, which was just embarrassing even if it was essentially true. So he went to Grissom. Grissom would know what to do.

"Grissom?" Greg knocked softly on Grissom's door before opening it slightly to peek through.

Grissom looked up from his computer at the sound of his voice. "Yes, Greg?"

Greg came all the way through the door and then carefully closed it behind him before turning to Grissom, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Um, I kinda have to talk to you about something."

Grissom began to look mildly concerned. It wasn't everyday that one of his CSI's came to him with a problem and when they did it usually meant it was official in nature. Grissom nodded again and motioned for Greg to sit down in the chair before his desk "Take a seat."

Still looking uncomfortable, Greg took a seat and then began fiddling with his hands. Grissom had always made him nervous and the subject matter of this intended discussion wasn't the most comfortable for him.

Grissom clasped his own hands and looked over them at Greg calmly. "So what can I do for you?"

"Yeah, um." Greg fidgeted in his seat, trying to decide what the best way to approach the subject would be. Finally he settled on a way and spoke, "You know how everybody's been teasing me about having a secret admirer?"

Grissom nodded, frowning slightly in concern at this start. It did not bode well. "I may have heard of something about that, yes."

"Well it's worse than that," Greg said.

That statement really made Grissom come to attention. "I'm sorry? Just how is it worse than that?"

Greg scratched the area behind his ear uncomfortably. "I've kind of been, um, getting letters. And phone calls."

Grissom looked interested. "And are they of a threatening nature?"

"Well, no, not really," Greg had to admit, "They're just really bizarre. Like, in the letters the guy makes it sound like we're actually in a real relationship when I know I'm not seeing anybody. And then when he calls he just kind of, you know, breathes at me and then hangs up."

Grissom simply raised a brow, now looking really interested, "Guy?" he asked, echoing Greg's own language back at him.

Greg tried not to blush. He hadn't wanted anyone to know his suspicions on his secret admirer's gender even though it should have been easy enough for anybody to figure it out on their own. After all, what kind of girl sent a guy flowers? It was usually the other way around. Still, Grissom had asked a question. "Yeah," Greg said, shifting in his seat uneasily. "It's just . . . I think the person is a guy. I mean, they sent me flowers. Girls don't send guy flowers when they like them."

Grissom nodded as if he agreed. "That is true." But then he looked at Greg. "But Greg, just what is it you think I can to do about this situation?"

Greg looked a bit confused. "Well I thought you could help me figure out who the person is so I could file stalker charges."

Grissom shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, but what you describe isn't the standard description of a stalking. You are not being threatened in anyway nor are you being followed. I'm afraid what you have on your hands is simply a somewhat strange secret admirer. I can't do anything to help you with that. This is all on you."

Greg couldn't believe this. "But I've been getting phone calls. Letters at home. This person knows where I live!"

Grissom just looked at him calmly. "And they have done nothing to you other than call you and send you some letters and flowers. When things escalate you can come to me, but I would suggest you wait until things are truly serious. Getting the police involved now would only make things worse."

Greg still couldn't believe this, but he had to admit that maybe Grissom was right. Maybe he was being overly dramatic in automatically thinking the worst when all his secret admirer had done was write to him and breathe at him over the phone. Plus the flowers, while girly, had been kind of nice. He'd given them to Catherine and she'd put them in the break room to "brighten up the place."

Greg sighed and looked down at the floor. "Alright, I suppose you're right."

"Good." There was a pause as Grissom looked at him again. "Was that all you wished to speak with me about?"

Greg nodded and stood up to leave. "Yeah. Yeah, that was it. Thanks, boss."

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Later, when he was in the break room, Greg scowled and shut the cabinet door with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Where the hell was his coffee? He'd looked all over the break room, in every cabinet and drawer there was, and he still couldn't find it.

"Alright. That's it." Turning to glare at his coworkers seated around the break room table, he crossed his arms over his chest and asked, "Who took my fucking coffee?"

Catherine turned away from her magazine to give him a mildly disapproving look. "Language, Greg."

That made Greg shrink a bit, but then the anger was back again and he was ignoring her to stomp over to Warrick's side. "Is that my coffee?" he asked, pointing at the cup of coffee the black man held.

"Nah, man," Warrick said easily, leaning back in his chair lazily. "This is the shit stuff they've been brewing all morning." He took a drink and basically ignored Greg's anger.

Greg scowled deeper at this answer. "Then where the hell is my coffee?"

Sara shot him a look. "If you want coffee that badly why don't you just drink what's already been brewed?"

Greg looked disgusted by this suggestion. "I'm not drinking that!" he said, pointing a finger accusingly at the innocent coffee machine where there was still almost half a pot of disgusting store brand coffee left to drink.

"Why not?" Sara replied archly. "It's what everybody else has been drinking."

"I bring my own coffee here for a reason," Greg explained, jabbing a finger in the direction of the floor. "And that reason is so that I don't have to drink what everybody else drinks!"

Nobody at the table looked particularly moved by this declaration. "Suck it up," Sara advised and then turned back to her science journal.

Greg growled and threw himself into one of the break room chairs, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling petulantly. "Dammit," he muttered to himself. It had been a bad day. First the flowers, then the teasing, then the trip to Grissom's office where he had found out that he couldn't do anything about his secret admirer, then a particularly nasty case, then some more teasing, and all of this without any of his coffee. He needed his caffeine, dammit. Where the hell was his coffee?

Breaking into the silence of the break room, Greg's phone began to ring. Digging it out of his pocket, Greg answered with an angry, "Sanders."

On the other side of the line there was only silence. It was only if you listened very closely that you could hear the quiet breathing.

Greg shot up in his seat. "You!" he exclaimed. "Do you know how much trouble your little flowers were, funny guy?" he asked angrily. "I'm not a girl and this isn't fun or interesting anymore. I want you to stop!"

From the other side of the line, the breathing seemed to get heavier, as if Greg's anger was exciting the person. Around the room the others had sat up and turned to Greg, looking interested in his phone conversation. They'd never really seen Greg angry with anybody. His anger was usually a very general thing, usually about the loss of his coffee or magazines, sometimes about the commands from above to turn his music down.

"Are you even listening to me, you bastard?" Greg growled, not liking the implications of the increased rate of breathing. "Stop it! Who the hell are you anyways?"

Warrick, Catherine, and Sara exchanged a look, each wondering what was going on. They could guess that this was Greg's secret admirer, but why was he so angry? Surely the flowers couldn't have pissed him off that badly. Even Warrick had to admit that they were rather nice flowers and he was not a flowers man.

Greg paused for a reply and was answered only by the sound of more breathing, even if it was a little heavier than before.

"Stop breathing at me and talk to me already!" Greg finally said, more than a little frustrated.

The person on the other side hung up and Greg cursed and slammed his phone down on the table to glare at it. That decided it. He was going to have a very long talk with his phone service provider after work about changing his cell number.

"And who was that?" Catherine asked, looking at Greg cautiously.

Greg took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. "That," he spat, "is the bastard that's been calling me again and again for the past week only to _breathe_ at me."

"Have you told Grissom this?" Sara asked carefully.

"Yeah," Greg said, slumping down in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest again, and glaring at his cell phone sullenly. "He said he couldn't do anything until the person starts to actively stalk me."

The others exchanged a speaking look at this, probably remembering Nick and the Nigel Crane situation.

Greg's cell phone began to ring again and everybody looked at it as if it was going to stand up and attack them. Greg let it ring twice more before picking it up again and saying cautiously, just in case it was somebody other then his secret admirer, "Sanders."

It was Grissom. "Greg, I need you and Nick to get down to 1579 Norgan Rd. It's a 419."

"Yeah, sure," Greg answered, looking almost relieved, and then Grissom hung up.

"Alright, that was Grissom," Greg informed the others, standing up and brushing himself off. "I got a 419. See you guys later, okay?" And with that said, Greg left to go hunt Nick down and head out to the scene. A case with Nick was just what he needed to get the phone call out of his mind and calm him down.

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"Where the hell is my pen?" Greg asked, looking confused as he searched the table for the runaway writing implement. It had just been there a minute ago. He'd gotten up to go get a form he needed to fill out and then he'd come back only to find his pen gone. Now what was he going to do his paperwork with? That had been his last pen. They'd been disappearing rather quickly over the past week and he still had no clue where any of them had ended up.

Resigned to his pen-less fate, Greg got up to go search one down. Maybe Sara had one? Or, even better, maybe Nick did? They'd already closed their shared case and he hadn't seen the other man in almost in hour, which was strange when you worked in such a close-knit working environment.

Greg peeked into one of the nearby rooms to find nobody there then peeked into the next evidence room to find Nick hard at work over what looked like phone records, a pen that looked suspiciously like Greg's in hand. Greg figured Nick was working on his newest case and resolved to figure out what it was about later. Right now he only had one question.

"Hey," Greg greeted, his eyes focused on the pen Nick held. "Where'd you get that pen?"

Nick gave him a strange look. "And hello to you too."

Greg shot him a look at this, but smiled. "Sorry. But, really, where'd you get that pen?"

"Over in one of the other rooms. It was just lying on the table," Nick replied casually before going back to his work.

Greg just looked at Nick for another long moment, feeling slightly annoyed. That settled it. Nick had stolen his pen. Finally, seeing that Nick was essentially ignoring him now, Greg huffed irritably and left the room, heading for the break room to see if maybe he could find a pen in there. Discovering Wendy instead, he smiled.

"Hey, Wendy," he started and the woman turned around to give him a smile.

"Hey, Greg," she replied.

"You don't happen to have a pen, do you?" Greg asked hopefully, trying out his pathetic 'pity me' look.

Wendy laughed and pulled a pen out of her lab coat pocket. "Sure, just remember to bring it back alright?" she said as she handed it over to him.

"I'll try," Greg said, saluting her with the pen and heading back to the room he'd been doing his paperwork. Plopping himself back down into his chair, he settled in to do some real work.

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Closing the door to his apartment behind him just as the sun was starting to rise in the sky, Greg heaved a tired sigh and dropped all of his things on his sofa. He still had a bunch of paperwork to do and he'd thought he'd take some of it home to work on it there. It had been a long day; made particularly bad by the fact that he had never found his coffee and so had eventually been forced to drink the cheap swill they dared to call coffee provided by the break room when he'd started going into caffeine withdrawals. At least the teasing had gotten better now that the others knew about the phone calls. It seemed Warrick, Catherine, and Sara had warned the others in the lab that teasing him about his secret admirer would not be a good idea though they apparently hadn't bothered to explain the reason why. He'd had to field concerned questions for the better part of the three hours he'd been in the lab working on his last case and backed-up paperwork. Nick had seemed especially concerned when he'd finally been told though he had also known when to shut up. Nick had never really teased him about the admirer to begin with though which was a little strange now that Greg thought about it because if their positions had been reversed Greg would have had a field day teasing the older man. It would have been expected of him really, but it also would have been a hell of a lot of fun.

It wasn't until he came back from the bathroom, intending to get his stuff from the couch and stick it on his desk while he slept, that he noticed the box of candies on his kitchen counter. A feeling of dread beginning to settle in his stomach, Greg slowly walked over and picked up the bright red box of mixed chocolates and found an equally bright red envelope hidden beneath it. Trying to avoid thinking about the implications of this find just yet, Greg took the envelope and candy and plopped down on his sofa to take the letter out and read.

It read:

_Dearest Greg,_

_I noticed how you loved the flowers and couldn't help but think that you deserved something else. I know how you love your candy and so I thought of you when I noticed this box in the store. Also, I enjoyed our conversation today though I must admit that I enjoy every conversation I have with you. Has anyone ever told you that you are fascinating? I ask again for a photo or maybe a letter in return. Please take these chocolates and think of me with love._

_Love with all my heart,_

_You know who_

Greg stared at the typed words that made up the letter and couldn't help but think that he had found this letter on his kitchen counter, not slid under the door like all of the others. This bastard had actually been inside his apartment. Suddenly Greg didn't feel entirely safe.

But now he could do something. Somebody breaking into your apartment was illegal even if it was only to give him a box of chocolates.

And what was with the candy and flowers? It was like this guy thought he was a girl or something. Of course, the man seemed absolutely nutso so maybe he could be excused.

Greg didn't care though. Tomorrow he was going to Grissom's office and he was showing his boss the candy and collection of letters as his proof that somebody was stalking him. Grissom couldn't say no to that and maybe then this whole secret admirer thing would finally get figured out.

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TBC?


	4. Ch3: Confrontations and Tracing Experts

Thanks to all those that reviewed including longas91, ceas, Master Sapphire 69, CountToEight, A-Light-Sleeper, fictitiousshore, Anonymous Sister of the Author, Chaney, Blatantly Jennifer, Marifw, AZNsexiness, and .

I would also really like to thank happyharper13 both for the review and for kindly agreeing to beta this story. Because of her this story may actually be, you know, finished. Unlike almost all of my other stories where I end up getting distracted somewhere in the middle by some new idea I have for a new story and then never return to the old one I was in the middle of writing. So thank you!

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Chapter #3: Confrontations and Tracing Experts

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"Hmmm."

It was the next day and Greg had brought all of his evidence to Grissom's office in the hopes of getting Grissom's help with his little stalker problem, but so far Grissom had only looked through all of the letters and candy and just said 'Hmmm.'

Greg leaned forward in his seat impatiently. "So can you help?"

Putting aside the last letter, Grissom looked up at Greg seriously. "And you say you received this candy in your apartment this morning after work?"

"Yeah," Greg said, nodding his head, thinking that they were finally getting somewhere. "Right on the kitchen counter."

"So this person has broken into your apartment," Grissom summarized before looking back down at the pile of letters on his desk with a frown. "That would safely put your case in the realm of stalker experience," Grissom said thoughtfully, clearly thinking something through.

"So you can help?" Greg repeated his question from before, starting to get a little excited. Finally, they were doing something about his secret admirer.

"Why didn't you report your apartment being broken into once you had realized that it had?" Grissom asked instead of answering, neatly side-stepping the question as he looked back up at Greg seriously.

Greg frowned and tried to remember just why he hadn't thought of doing that. Finally, he admitted, "I suppose I just wasn't thinking. I just wanted you to believe me that I was being stalked."

"Well, you have gotten your wish," Grissom said. "I believe you. Now we just have to figure out a plan on how to deal with this."

"I've already called my phone service provider to change my number," Greg said. "Um." He then seemed to remember something and reached into his pocket for a slip of paper. He handed this to Grissom and continued, "That's the new number. I'm gonna be passing it out to the others today. And I've already called a locksmith to change my locks so that should get done by tomorrow. But I didn't know what else to do after that."

Taking the slip of paper from Greg's hands, Grissom looked at the number then nodded and placed it to the side before turning back to Greg and listening as he spoke. Finally, when Greg finished, Grissom said, "You should speak to Brass about this. He can set you up with everything we have to catch stalkers in the act. And I'm going to have Sara go over to your apartment to look around for any further evidence. Is that okay?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. Whatever. Just so long as it stops this guy."

"Good," Grissom said, still frowning in thought. "Then take the chocolates down to Trace to check for any drugs and the letters over to fingerprinting to see if your stalker happened to leave any behind. We might get lucky."

Hearing this command, Greg blinked and frowned again, now looking at the red box of candies in a new, more dangerous, light. He hadn't even thought about the chance that the stalker could have drugged the chocolates. Suddenly he was very glad that he hadn't succumbed to the temptation to try one out.

"Uh, yeah. I'll go do that," Greg said, starting to get to his feet to leave.

But before he could go, Grissom smiled slightly, just the tiniest upward turn of the lip. "And Greg? Don't worry. We'll figure this out."

Removing his eyes from the seemingly innocent box of chocolates, Greg brought out his best smile, trying to just be happy to be believed and on the road to getting something done. "Great," he said, "Thanks boss."

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The next hour went smoothly, Greg passing out his new number to the rest of his coworkers who generally accepted it with only the slightest show of confusion. Hodges and Mandy hadn't been told whose case they were working when he had brought them the candy and letters, so they hadn't been able to spread any rumors around the lab. And Greg remembered that only Sara, Catherine, and Warrick really knew about the phone calls so he wasn't surprised when those three were the only ones to really show any amount of concern. But, it wasn't until Greg was passing his new cell number to Nick that he really got the third degree.

"Hey, Nick!" Greg said, flagging Nick down and dragging him to the side of the hallway. "I just got a new number. Get out your cell phone."

Obliging Greg with only the slightest frown, Nick got out his cell phone and changed the number on his contact list as Greg recited his new number.

"Great!" Greg said when he was finished. "You're the last one I needed to tell. So I'll just let you go back to whatever you were doing. See ya later, man!" And Greg started to walk away only to have Nick grab him by the arm with an insistent "Wait!"

Looking back at Nick, Greg frowned. "What?"

"I just wanted to know. What's with the new number? Is this about all those calls you've been getting?" Nick asked intently.

That successfully got Greg's attention and his frown deepened as he pulled his arm out of Nick's grip. "You know about those?"

Nick nodded with his own concerned frown as he let Greg's arm go. "Yeah, Catherine told me all about it. So what's up, man? Is this person threatening you?"

"No. No," Greg said, shaking his head. "He just calls to breathe at me. It's really more annoying than anything else."

"Then why have I heard that you're having Hodges look at some candy your secret admirer gave you?"

Now Greg looked a bit confused. "How'd you hear about that?"

"Dude," Nick said, looking a bit exasperated. "Warrick was standing right there when you gave them to him. And you're not on any cases that include candy so he just guessed that they came from your secret admirer, especially since he knew about how that guy's been hounding you with phone calls."

"Why didn't Warrick say anything then?" Greg asked, thinking back to his own conversation with the black man. He now remembered seeing the man in the hallway when he had been handing over the candies to Hodges, but when Greg had gone to talk to him Warrick had seemed concerned, but hadn't seemed to know anything more than Greg had expected him to know.

"I dunno," Nick said with an uncomfortable shrug, looking away for a moment and then back. "Maybe because he thinks you'll talk more to me than to him?"

Greg frowned again at this answer, but finally had to agree that it made as much sense as anything. It was probably true too. He looked back up at Nick's frowning countenance. "Well, you don't have to worry. I'm just fine," he said, giving Nick his best brave smile.

Which obviously did nothing to convince him. "Greg," Nick said seriously, "You have the beginnings of a stalker. How can you possibly be 'just fine'?"

"I'm fine," Greg restated, "I'm gonna go talk to Brass and everything will be figured out in no time."

"But what if it isn't?" Nick asked. "I mean, I highly doubt this guy is gonna be an idiot and just leave tons of fingerprints around for us to find."

"Then you obviously haven't read any of the letters," Greg said smartly. "This guy thinks we're already in a relationship. Why would he hide his fingerprints from me if he thinks that?"

"Never underestimate the paranoia of a crazy person," Nick warned. "There could be thousands of reasons for why he would hide his fingerprints from you. Haven't you ever wondered why he thought to give you those letters secretly in the first place? Why would he do that if your relationship was so obvious?"

Now Greg frowned again. "How did you know he was sending me letters?"

"Oh come on," Nick said, sounding a little irritated at this insult to his intelligence. "I saw the first one. And with the way you were talking, it's a bit obvious that he's kept sending them to you. Don't insult me, man."

"Fine. I'm sorry. It's just," Greg looked around the hallway suspiciously before stepping in closer and speaking softly, "have you told the others?"

Nick shook his head. "Nah. I didn't want to worry them. The candies you sent to Hodges have them worried enough." Nick frowned again as he remembered this, some of his own worry returning to his face as he pinned Greg with a serious look. "Do you really think there are drugs in them?"

Greg really thought about this, remembering his doubts of just an hour ago and thinking over all of the letters he'd gotten, then shook his head. "Nah. I don't think so. This guy's been pretty much benign the whole time. Why would he suddenly want to drug me when he's already spent the entire week trying to woo me in his letters?"

Nick looked at him like Greg was being especially thick about this. "Maybe because his "wooing" wasn't working?"

"But he didn't do anything to the flowers," Greg pointed out.

"Of course he didn't," Nick said scornfully, "He gave them to you in a building full of police officers. If he wanted you drugged and at his mercy he'd have to wait until you were alone. Like when you were in your apartment."

Thinking about that, Greg gave Nick a somewhat disgruntled glare. "Are you trying to freak me out, man? Because, if you are, it's working. I'm trying to stay positive about this whole thing and you're really bringing me down."

"I'm trying to make you see how serious this is," Nick said. "I just don't want you thinking that just because Grissom and Brass know about your little admirer that you're safe."

"But I am safe!" Greg protested.

"You're not safe until this guy is behind bars," Nick disagreed. "All the time up to then you're free for the taking."

Getting annoyed by how this conversation was going, Greg shook his head irritably. "Look. I have things to do. I don't need to stand here and listen to your paranoia."

"It's not paranoia if it's true!" Nick argued.

"No, even then it's paranoia," Greg said, glaring at his friend, but then couldn't keep up the anger and sighed. "Look," he said, trying to get Nick to think rationally. "Just because things got bad for you, that doesn't mean that they're going to get bad for me. Our situations are totally different. I mean, I haven't had anybody come in to put in any cable so I think I'm okay." Greg decided that if Nick didn't know that his apartment had been broken into then there was no point in telling him about it. It would only make him worry more.

Nick just looked at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face, until he finally sighed and said, "Fine. I know. I'm just, you know, worried about you, man. I mean, I know what it's like to have a stalker and it's not fun."

Greg smiled and clapped a hand on Nick's shoulder. "And I never thought it would be fun. But let me worry about my own stalker, okay man? I'm _fine_. And I'm going to stay fine. But I really do gotta go. I have to talk to Brass."

Nick managed a weak smile. "Then go. Don't wanna keep that man waiting."

Greg smiled again and waved at Nick before taking off. "Thanks. See you later, okay?"

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"He always calls at the same time," Greg reported. "Ten thirty. I mean, most of his calls are random, but he always calls at ten thirty."

Brass nodded and jotted this down in his notebook. "Has he called you already today?" he asked.

"Not yet," Greg said before looking down at his watch to check the time. It was 9:46 PM. "It's not ten thirty yet. That's his first call."

Brass checked his own watch and nodded. "Then we should get you connected to the equipment soon. After a few more questions."

Greg nodded. "Of course."

"What does he say when he calls you?" Brass asked, holding his pen at the ready to continue writing.

"Nothing," Greg answered with a shrug, shifting a bit in the seat he'd been given. The two of them were seated in a small room just off the hallway with only one little window. It really was an interrogation room, but they'd been using the room just to talk. "He just, you know, breathes at me and then hangs up."

Brass nodded like this was nothing he hadn't expected and jotted this down then went on to his next question. "And his letters? How often do you get them?"

"About three times a week," Greg said. "I just walk into my apartment or open my locker and bam—" Greg made a slamming motion with his hands to indicate the suddenness, "they're there." Greg frowned as he thought about the implications of this. "Do you think it's somebody from the lab? I mean, I know it's not one of the guys, but maybe one of the littler people? This person has to have gotten access to my locker somehow."

Brass frowned in return and thought this question through. "I don't know. But it's a good point. I'll be sure to ask around. But back to the questions. Do you ever feel like somebody's watching you?"

Greg looked a little uncomfortable about this question. "Well, sure. I mean, everybody does sometimes, right? It's nothing big."

Brass pinned Greg with a stern look. "You have a possible stalker after you. Thing's like the feeling of being watched aren't normal." He turned back to his notepad. "When exactly do you feel like you're being watched?"

Greg only looked more uncomfortable. "Well . . . when I'm in the car park. Or when I go to this café that I go to. Or sometimes when I'm in my apartment, like in the shower." But here he looked at Brass, eyes wide as he insisted, "But that's totally normal. I mean, everybody feels like they're being watched in the shower. It's the_ shower_. You know, vulnerable city."

Brass ignored Greg's continued insistence on the feeling's normalcy and continued to jot down notes. "Does it ever make you feel uncomfortable?"

"Well, of course," Greg said, shifting again as he started to babble uncomfortably. "I mean, nobody likes feeling like they're being watched unless they're a total exhibitionist. And I'm not a total exhibitionist. I mean, sure, I like putting on a show sometimes, but that doesn't mean I'm—"

"Can you tell me just how frequent this feeling is?" Brass broke in to Greg's uncomfortable babbling, his face still serious as he continued with his job.

"Um . . ." Greg tried to think back to how often he'd felt like he was being watched and it was hard not to wince as he realized just how often the feeling came. "Maybe a couple times a day?" he said hesitantly.

Brass frowned again, glancing up at Greg once before returning his attention to his notebook, nodding and jotting this information down.

And so went the little questioning session for a while until Brass finally looked down at his watch and sighed. "Alright. You say he always calls you at ten thirty? We better get you to some place where we can track the number." He motioned for somebody through the little window in the small room they had been talking in and a random cop poked his head into the room.

"Yes?"

"Bring out the tracing equipment," Brass said.

The cop nodded and went to do as asked and soon Brass and Greg, along with the equipment's workers, were all ready to trace any call that Greg received.

At ten thirty on the dot Greg's cell phone rang. Picking it up, Greg answered with a steady, "Sanders."

As usual, nobody replied. But, listening closely, Greg could hear the sound of somebody breathing.

"Hello?" Greg asked again, trying to sound oblivious. "Anybody there?"

The experts still hadn't gotten anything, working the machine, clacking at their laptops and muttering under their breath.

"Hello?" Greg said again, continuing with his part, a little impatiently this time.

Still, on the other side of the line, he could only hear the sound of somebody's light breathing. His eyes went to the tracing experts again and still they obviously had nothing.

Starting to get a little angry, Greg scowled and said into the phone. "Hey, I said hello! Is anybody there?"

More breathing, slightly heavier than before, and then suddenly only the dial tone answered him and Greg sighed and hung up. Turning to the tracing techs, he asked, "So? Anything?"

The first one, a middle aged man with graying brown hair looked up from his machines and shook his head. "Nothing. They had the signal blocked good."

Greg sighed. Oh well. So much for that hope.

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TBC


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